


we shall keep the man

by timetrees



Series: post season 2 yj [3]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Death, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetrees/pseuds/timetrees
Summary: “He’s…” Tim exhaled, a harsh, loud breath. “My dad’s dead.”





	1. poor and wretched

**Author's Note:**

> ):

Bart hadn’t talked to his boyfriend in three days when he showed up at his house. Tim wasn’t answering any of his texts, and hadn’t even opened any of his Snapchats. They never called each other due to mutual dislike, but Bart even tried his home phone.

No response.

First Bart knocked on the chipped-paint door, mostly out of courtesy, which was a thing he’d been trying to get better at. Even though Tim’s dad knew about him being Robin now, it was best not to be too overt.

When there was again no response, Bart skipped the respect and vibrated himself through it. He shook himself a few times when he got to the other side, then noticed his surroundings. All the furniture had been moved to the walls, encircling a space on the floor that had obviously been cleaned recently; there was a cylinder of wipes and a dirty rag on the floor.

There were, Bart noticed as he leaned down, a few specks of blood still not scrubbed away.

Bart swallowed and ran to Tim’s room.

He slowed down too early as he skidded through the door, causing a kind of soreness in his whole body that was really annoying, but wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes.

Tim was sitting on his bed, leaned against the wall, staring at his phone. The look on his face was the look he wore when he was either too tired to cry or trying not to. He didn’t seem to notice Bart’s entry.

“Babe,” Bart said. “What…”

Tim looked up, not moving but flicking his eyes up to see Bart. “B,” he said, numbly. Did he not have enough energy to even say Bart’s name?

“What happened?” Bart moved forward, stopping at the edge of Tim’s bed, unsure if he should proceed. Tim closed his eyes, which Bart took as permission to get on the bed with him. “Tim?”

“You didn’t hear,” Tim said.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Bart said, reaching over to him slowly. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He didn’t ask about the blood on the floor.

“He’s…” Tim exhaled, a harsh, loud breath. “My dad’s dead.”

Bart froze, started thinking, as fast as he could. He’d read books on loss and grief and trauma, mostly for himself but for others, too, especially after Spoiler died. Spoiler had died only a month ago. She’d been one of Tim’s best friends. Tim’s dad was dead. Tim was an orphan.

Batman and Robin were orphans. They always were, it seemed, though Bart knew it wouldn’t be true in the future. He thought back, into the catacombs of his too-good memory, back to his time, his erased future. Had he heard anything about Jack Drake dying? He didn’t think so. He’d heard of Tim, of Red Robin and the Shadows, but nothing of his family.

Was he supposed to ask how he’d died?

“I’m sorry,” Bart said. Usually when he apologized like that, Tim would tease him, referencing one of their first real conversations. This time, it wasn’t quite right. “When did – they just left you alone here?”

It didn’t seem right. Bart wondered if Batman knew about Tim’s struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts. It felt like something he would have to know, but why would Batman leave him alone in his house after his dad’s death, if he’d known?

Bart pushed the thought away.

“It’s been a few days,” Tim said. He rubbed one eye with the side of his finger. “They didn’t, Dick didn’t want to leave, but something happened with Artemis or maybe Wally so I told him to go…”

“When was that?” Bart asked.

“A few hours ago,” Tim said. “I’m fine. I’ve just been, um…” Tim screwed his eyes shut and made a pitiful kind of sobbing noise. “I’m fine! My dad’s dead and I don’t, um, I don’t know where my stepmother is, but it’s fine. He’s dead.”

Bart filed the information about Dana away and scooted closer to Tim, sneaking one arm around his waist. Tim leaned to Bart, the side of his face pressed to Bart’s chest.

“I’m here,” Bart said softly. He let his mind drift. Where _was_ Dana? Had she been home when Jack died? Was she truly missing or just somewhere Tim didn’t know about? Bart could probably find her, if she was in Gotham, but he didn’t want to leave Tim.

“Captain Boomerang,” Tim said absently. Bart frowned and tried to look at him, but it was hard to see him when he was so close under his chin.

“Harkness?” he asked. “He… one of the Rogues said he was missing.”

“Dead,” Tim corrected. “Not missing. He killed my dad. My dad killed him.”

“Oh my god,” Bart said. “Why did – you don’t have to tell me. Or maybe you don’t know. It’s okay.”

Tim angled his head so his entire face was hidden in Bart’s shirt. “I just think I wanna go to sleep,” he said. “Dick will probably be back soon, so you don’t have to stay…”

Bart put a hand in Tim’s hair, curving around a strand of it. It was much longer than it had been when they’d met, though not as long as Bart’s was now. “I’m staying,” he told his boyfriend. “You can sleep on me, if you want.”

Bart heard Tim sniff. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m just… going to…”

Bart smiled a little sadly and closed his eyes as well.

Though his internal clock wasn’t the best around due to superspeed and other various mental afflictions, Bart estimated that it was about twenty minutes later when Dick got back. He walked in the room with his mouth open, like he was going to say something, but closed it when he saw Tim sleeping.

“Hi,” Bart said quietly.

“Hey, Bart,” Dick said, glancing around and closing the door behind him. “How long have you been here?”

“A while,” Bart said. “Not long. You left him alone for a while.”

“There was an thing with Wally and Artemis,” Dick said. “It wasn’t a big deal, just some family drama. How has he been?”

“Dissociating,” Bart said. “He said Digger Harkness killed his dad and not much else.”

“Yeah…” Dick closed his eyes, his mouth a firm line. “He– we can’t really talk about what– just. Be there for him, if you can.”

“Of course,” Bart said. “Why would I leave him?”

Dick smiled a little. “Good point,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Bart wondered why he was the one being asked. Was he Tim’s designated person now? They’d been dating for over a year, and Bart had even (terrifyingly) been invited over to family dinners _twice_.

Bart hardly had family dinners with his own family, and they were speedsters.

“Um, I don’t know,” Bart said, hoping he wouldn’t be penalized for the non-answer. “I really think I know less than you.”

“Okay.” Dick sighed. “I’m going to make something to eat. You want something?”

“No,” Bart said. Dick frowned at him and left in a confused sort of way. Bart guessed he was still used to the way Wally had needed to eat before getting lost in the Speed Force. Bart needed to eat, too, but he’d honed his hunger in his thirteen-ish years in the apocalypse.

Bart looked back down at Tim, still sleeping on his chest. One hand was curled around his waist.

Bart pulled one arm up to meet his. Tim wasn’t really one for holding hands, but Bart found it comforting, like a hug you could move around in. Tim’s hands were always cold, but not clammy. Bart liked it.

Bart liked Tim.

Tim mumbled something, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Go to sleep,” Bart said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if Tim was really awake. How long had it been since he’d last slept? Tim tended to obsess when bad things happened, and that usually involved staying up.

“M’kay,” Tim said, still muffled but decipherable this time. “Love you.”

Bart tightened his grasp on Tim’s hand for a moment, then let go. “Love you, too.”


	2. expectation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tim woke up, Bart was asleep.

When Tim woke up, Bart was asleep.

His room was dark, but he could see light coming in through the blinds, so it was still day. That was unless he’d slept through the night, but Tim didn’t feel well-rested enough for that to be true.

He moved away from Bart as quietly as possible, because Bart didn’t get much sleep. He never had, but it had gotten worse in the past few months. Tim didn’t know why.

Tim moved into the kitchen. It was clean, courtesy of Alfred, and getting emptier and emptier as Tim and Alfred sorted through the things in the house. Tim would probably be adopted by Bruce at some point, but for now, he was just his ward.

Tim sat down at the island and put his head in his hands. His father was dead.

Bruce was going to adopt him.

He was too tired to cry, so he just stayed, motionless, thinking of nothing in particular. It was a rainy day in Gotham, as it often was, so he couldn’t go on a walk to clear his head. Well, he could, but he didn’t think the rain would help his depression at all.

His father was dead.

“Hey there,” Dick said from behind him.

Tim jolted only slightly. He breathed in for a long moment and untensed his shoulders before turning over to his brother.

“Hey,” he said. It was more of a rasp than a word.

Dick pulled the chair beside him out and sat down in it. He had a long, still red gash going across his neck, just above his collarbone.

“Where’d you get that?” Tim asked, his words stronger than they had been before.

“Oh.” One of Dick’s hands flitted up, almost touching the wound. “Villain with claws.”

“Catwoman claws?” Tim asked. “Or, like, an actual animal person?”

Dick sighed. “Cheshire got mad at me,” he explained.

Tim nodded, eyes closing a few times as his head spun. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted to fight crime. He wanted his father back.

Dick was looking at him with a disgustingly pitiful face. Tim knew he would be wearing the same face if he were Dick, so he wasn’t mad, just… exposed. Judged.

“Why did Cheshire get mad at you?” Tim asked, too bleakly for it to really be regarded as a question.

“I _might_ have made a badly timed joke about her daughter.” Dick’s voice was skewed with embarrassment.

“Right,” Tim said. “Was it about Roy trying to teach their toddler archery?”

“No,” Dick said. “But I considered it.”

Tim breathed out something that could’ve been taken as a laugh if it were more forceful. “To be, uh, fair, I think it runs in the family or something.”

“Huh,” Dick said, like he hadn’t considered that. “Both sides, too.”

Tim nodded and put his head down in his arms, toes curled around the bar under the stool he was sitting on. “What am I gonna do now?” he asked, not really expecting a good answer but still hoping for one.

Dick inhaled and exhaled loudly, a precursor to a response. “Remember him,” he said.

 _Not much to remember_ , Tim thought, unfairly.

“You can…” Dick trailed off, thinking about his coming words. “Fight for him. And fight to… to make sure things like that don’t happen again, to other people.”

“They’ll always happen,” Tim said, and immediately regretted it. He hated how cynical he’d gotten lately. When he’d first started as Robin, he’d been so driven and optimistic about his effect on the world, on Batman, on the people he saved. Two years later, he was more than a little jaded.

He still had Batman. He still had Dick. He still had Bart. It was going to be okay.

“Don’t think like that,” Dick said, after a shocked moment of pause. Tim looked away, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Do you… want something to eat?”

“Sure,” Dick said. He got up from his chair and pulled open a cabinet, which had no food in it. He turned back to Tim. “Where’s your cereal?”

“I don’t have any,” Tim said. “I eat ramen. You know, like a regular millennial.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re Gen Z,” Dick said.

“Whatever.” Tim slid out from his chair. “Terms like that are just marketing ploys anyway. There’s no real generational divide, or at least not one that’s clear cut.”

“Really changed your tune there, bro,” Dick said.

Tim shook his head and reached out to pull open the lower cabinet that contained a ridiculous amount of ramen and mac ‘n cheese.

“Want any of those?” he asked.

Dick stood next to him and peered down at the food. “You eat _shrimp_ ramen?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, if you’re going to be rude about it.” Tim shut the drawer with his foot.

“No, I take it back!” Dick laughed, probably relieved for the levity. He tried to open the drawer himself, but Tim pressed it closed again, the sole of his foot hard against the wood.

He lost his balance.

“Shit,” Tim said, then regretted it, because he didn’t usually swear and Dick was going to _look_ at him weirdly.

Dick didn’t seem to notice. “You okay down there?” he asked.

Tim shifted and drew his knees up to his chest. “Yeah,” he said, in the most casual voice he could. “You can make that ramen, if you want.” he scooted so that Dick could open the drawer.

“Alright, thanks,” Dick said, a little slowly, like he was concerned or maybe thought Tim was going to shut the drawer on him again. “Do you want to watch something?” he asked as he started the boiling water.

“Is Bart awake?” Tim asked. The question probably made him sound like some sort of gay sap. He didn’t care.

“He wasn’t when I saw him,” Dick said. “You were sort of wrapped together.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tim closed his eyes. “I fell asleep on him, I think. I hadn’t slept in awhile.”

Dick nodded, watched Tim like he thought he was about to fall apart. He wasn’t going to, of course; Batman needed him. Bart needed him. The world did, really, though that may have been a narcissistic thought. Tim wanted to tell Dick that, to comfort his brother even though he was probably the one in real need of comfort, but he didn’t have the words. Everything he could say would just make it sound worse.

“I’m going to get back to Bart,” Tim said.

And he left.

**Author's Note:**

> also ik i posted a chapter of smth that i haven't finished but technically i started this before that one so! yknow!  
> also also title is from a decemberists song i haven't listened to because i'm fake like that.


End file.
